


Just one of a hundred sad old men

by Hay_Bails



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Caring Rick, Gen, Other, Parent-Child Relationship, baby morty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 11:55:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11805492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hay_Bails/pseuds/Hay_Bails
Summary: Morty is too young to remember that his grandfather used to hold him when his mother was drunk.A drabble inspired by Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812.





	Just one of a hundred sad old men

* * *

 

            He is too young to remember.

            That's what Rick tells himself.

            At just a year old, Morty is too young to remember the sensation of Rick's hot tears as they trickle down his long nose, landing on his grandson's hair. Rick curses, then apologizes, then hastily corrects his choice of wording. Then he laughs at himself, because Morty is too young to realize that his grandfather cries when he holds him.

            Not that it will matter, in the long run. That's what he tells himself.

            Beth is drunk. Dead drunk. Drunker than functional.

            "W-we'll be better," Rick whispers, cradling the toddler against his chest. "Uh. Just please. Let us be better." He's speaking nonsense, repeating himself, and he knows it. Morty stares, eyes wide and alert.

            "Couple of alcoholics, no way to raise a child..." he mutters, berating himself.

            Abruptly he stands, eliciting a short cry from the boy. He shushes him, his hand splayed across Morty's entire back. His grandson is so small.

            Tomorrow, Beth will kick him out again. He can't blame her. When one of them is sober, the other is drunk. This is the nature of their relationship, each orbiting the other's sobriety for a few brief hours at a time, Morty glowing, sun-like, dead center between them.

            "I used to be better," he whispers suddenly, trying to convince Morty, Morty who will not remember any part of this conversation, Morty whose mind has not reached maturity.

            The toddler coos at him mildly.

            "I-I used to be better," Rick repeats. "I..."

            He sobs.

            Morty is quiet. He's a good kid, Rick thinks. He's a real good kid.

            He has one hand on Morty's back and the other on his head. He rocks back and forth a few times.

            "You'll forgive me," he whispers. "Won't you?"

            Morty coos in response. Rick laughs wetly.

            "We'd do anything for you," he reasons.

            Except giving up alcohol. Oh, anything but that.

            But he doesn't say it.

            It's easy to martyr yourself for a child.

            "We love you," he whispers, hoping that he means it.

**Author's Note:**

> 'There's a ringing my head  
> There's a sickness in the world  
> And everyone knows  
> But pretends that they don't see  
> Oh, I'll sort it out later  
> But later never comes'
> 
> 'Pierre'   
> from Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812


End file.
